| It was the last seat on the bus. A hole in between the young-ish punk guy and the lady with fat elbows. I sunk into the space, relieved to finally be off my feet. It was at that particular moment, just as I was adjusting my ass in order to expose the least amount of surface area to the ass beside me, that a horrible, horrible smell wafted into my nostrils. I wanted to hurl. It literally must have been vomit. Ugh.
The woman shifted her elbows, poking me with soft flesh. I looked next to me and noticed a white meal-size styrofoam box on the punk boy's lap. He didn't touch it, really, just stared at it and held it upright on his knees. There was no question - the smell was coming from the box. In my head I pictured the bus coming to a screeching halt, the box tumbling end over end to the floor despite the best efforts of the boy, the horrified slow-motion looks on the faces of the passengers as the contents of the mystery box spilled onto the ground. Or a game show, even. "So, Timmy, would you like to take your prize and leave, or pick WHAT'S IN THE BOX?????? The audience cheers. Little Timmy opens the box, only to find......VOMIT VOMIT VOMIT! Yuck.
There was no escape. No empty seats. I was afraid that if I got up and moved, I would only be standing and smelling vomit rather than sitting and smelling vomit. Vomit is not something you can run away from.
I almost tapped him on the shoulder and said "Um...excuse me, do you realize that you have a box full of vomit on your lap?" but I held back. What good would it have done? What did I expect him to say, "oh no, sorry, i didn't realize, I'll get off the bus right away." I don't think so.
So I sat there, on the verge of hurling and adding to the vomity atmosphere already present on the bus. God, I'm so fucking passive! Sometimes I wish I was more like one of those farty old grandmothers who yells at little kids. Hmmmph. | 
